Buddy LaRosa couldn't sleep the night before. He was opening – 60 years ago Monday – his first pizzeria.

The tiny Westwood restaurant he saw as "a little hole in the wall" on Boudinot Avenue spawned an empire of 63 locations. That empire has launched an emporium's worth of 15 different products under the LaRosa's brand name, from olive oil and frozen ravioli to salad dressings and, coming in April to a grocery store near you, jars of the family recipe that started the hometown chain, Buddy's Aunt Dena's pizza sauce.

LaRosa may not have been able to sleep that night. But he dreamed big. "I dreamed of success," he said last week as he recalled events surrounding that long ago opening day: March 24, 1954. "I never dreamed of failure. I've always thought positive. I wanted to create something I could be proud of, something that would last."

That's Buddy. The man Greater Cincinnati knows by his nickname – his given name is Donald – and his pizza (LaRosa's holds a commanding 35 percent slice of the market) is always striving, always upbeat, always positive. "Every day I remind myself of my father's positive attitude," said Buddy's son, Michael LaRosa, the chain's CEO. "I don't care what happens, how bad things get, he has the most positive attitude about life. And he has boundless energy."

His father raised his hand and softly asked for permission to interrupt. "If Mrs. LaRosa were alive," Buddy said, "she would call that energy 'the LaRosa craziness.'"

He smiled and lowered his head after mentioning his late wife, JoJo. The shy one in their partnership and marriage, she stayed in the kitchen 60 years ago while Buddy worked the front of the house when they first opened for business.

JoJo LaRosa passed away in 2011. Her death still hurts Buddy's 83-year-old heart. To this day, when he talks about her, he can't call her by name.

Michael LaRosa resumed singing his father's praises: "I will never be his equal. I want to expand the business to Columbus and south to Tennessee before I hang up my apron. But I know there's only one Buddy LaRosa. He's one of those American icons who came up from nothing, worked hard and made a difference."

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Mark LaRosa, Michael's younger brother and the firm's president and chief culinary officer, sang a second chorus: "He's so giving and involved with the community." (LaRosa and his restaurant managers appear as if they never met a charity they didn't aid.) "He's a perfectionist. Everything he does has to be 110 percent."

Under his breath, Buddy recited one of his mantras: "When a task is before you, do it well or not at all."

Nick LaRosa, Michael's son, the only one of Buddy's 15 grandchildren to go into the business and the chain's executive director of business intelligence, added: "I have three great role models in a very special family filled with real stories and real examples to show me the right way to do things."

The four LaRosas, representing a 160 years in the pizza business, sat at the stainless steel counter of Mark's state-of-the-art test kitchen. His unmarked hideaway faces the flagship location of the LaRosa's empire. A plaque and a photo in the restaurant's lobby mark the spot where the first pizzeria stood and its opening date.

Plans for the 60th anniversary celebration are low-key. Customers stopping by Monday will receive a free cookie. The pizza sauce appears in stores in April. The staff is wearing commemorative T-shirts with the slogan "Celebrating 60 years, 1954-2014" and the company's Luigi mascot on the front and the LaRosa logo atop "Thanks Buddy" on the back.

"We're keeping it simple," said Michael LaRosa.

"That's because the Reds had too many games with 11 strikeouts," Buddy added. "There's not much left in the giveaway budget."

For the past two seasons, LaRosa's hosted a "strikeouts for slices" promotion during Reds home games. When the home team's pitchers struck out 11 or more batters, everyone at the ballpark could go to any LaRosa's restaurant and turn in a ticket stub for a free, small, four-topping pizza.

In 2012, LaRosa's gave away 119,451 of them. In 2013, with Reds pitchers mowing down the opposition, that figure jumped to 225,054 pies.

"The average retail value for those pizzas exceeded $1 million both years," Michael LaRosa said.

"But we're still going to do it this year," Buddy added. "It reminds people that the ingredients of our pizzas pop into their mouths."

He ran down the list of his pizzas' basics: Rich cheese with a high butterfat content for taste and mouth appeal, "tomatoes that have a pedigree, and top-quality flour for our dough."

Mentioning the flour transported Buddy back to his restaurant's 1954 opening. The weather: "Cool in the morning (33 degrees) and warm in the afternoon (66). A typical Cincinnati March day." His first customer: "An attorney, Richard Curry. He had to walk on planks to get in. They were widening the street. There was mud everywhere. And no parking."

The first purchase: "Pizza, of course. Sold 30 pies that day. They were 85 cents each and one size, medium. Our biggest seller was the one with pepperoni." That cost 95 cents.

LaRosa's restaurants sold more than 6 million pies in 2013. A medium pepperoni remains the best seller, accounting for 25 percent of all pizzas sold. Now, it costs $10.24.

The first pizza came with his Aunt Dena's sauce, the same recipe that's still ladled onto the dough. "We had a summer festival at our church, San Antonio in South Fairmount, in 1953. We put Aunt Dena's sauce on the pizza. I manned the booth and watched all sorts of people eat her pizza. That's when I decided: 'Forget about the banana business and peddling produce, I'm going to open a pizza shop.'"

In addition to his memories, Buddy has one memento from that first day in business: A tin can that once held 48 pounds of Partridge brand lard.

He keeps the can, its yellow and red colors still glossy, in his test kitchen, "my clubhouse." That's between Mark LaRosa's test site and the flagship restaurant.

"I cleaned the can up real good and would bring my dough to the restaurant every morning," Buddy said.

"I couldn't afford a mixer," he explained. A commercial-grade dough mixer cost $5,000. He had sunk his life savings, $400, into the business.

"So I went to the German baker, Mr. Yaeger, in our Italian neighborhood on Queen City Avenue and asked him to make the dough for me." Every night he would drop off the can at 10 p.m. Every morning, he'd pick up the can filled with dough. "I did that for three or four years until I could afford a mixer."

He put his arms around the can and held it tight. "I was always taught to take care of things," he said.

The same goes for people.

"I love what I do for a living," Buddy explained as he thought back over 60 years in the pizza business. "It's like serving others. It's a blessing." ⬛